


Paternity

by CrazyDragon



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU Fifth Year/OotP, Post GoF, Revelation, father - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-10
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyDragon/pseuds/CrazyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Hermione has a secret.  When her greatest fear nearly comes true, the time for secrecy is ended...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**AN:** My word, it’s been a while since I posted anything...too busy reading, I guess! Harry Potter fanfiction has taken over my brain lately--there’s so much of it...!_
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> _This probably isn’t going to be too long--maybe six thousand words or so. It should be safe for pre-teens and adults alike, though the youngest set might get annoyed at my vocabulary. ,’=P There’s no real ‘ships’ in here, it’s not a romance; and no violence, though the story happens because somebody was hurt--I don’t give details; and no, there ain’t no citrus (I just don’t write those kinds of stories, though I’ll read lemons/slash/etc. IF they’re part of a well-written story. ::shrugs::). There’s actually not all that much of a hint of plot, per se, other than revealing a secret...it’s more a character study. It’s set at the beginning of Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts; Voldemort is back, but nothing from book five has happened, but for the Headmaster’s avoiding Harry. No Dementor attack on Dudley at the end of Summer, and so no Ministry trial; no Dolores Umbridge or Blood Quill; etc. As this takes place around the beginning of December, the whole Department of Mysteries debacle isn’t an issue, either._
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> _In reading more Harry Potter fanfics than could possibly be good for anyone, I’ve only come across a very, very few that even hint at something like this, so I thought it might be a decent offering for me to make to the fandom. Might even spark some other authors into different ideas, eh? Or at least get me some links to stories I’ve missed! Heh._
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> _The only other stories I’ve posted to date have been based on the manga/anime Fruits Basket and/or Ranma ½. (...Yes, I crossed those two. I’m Crazy, can’t ya tell? >=D ) ----Oops, mustn’t forget my Fruits Basket crossover with Petshop of Horror! I’ve a whole slew of half-done Harry Potter fics on my hard-drive, but I think most of ‘em aren’t near original enough for me to share them. Yet, anyway. Though the crossovers are rather promising...*eg!*_
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> _**Warning:** Brit-pickers might possibly be driven to insanity by American-style spelling and use of words. Considering the amount of time I don’t have on-line, intensive research for something that I ain’t gettin’ no money for just isn’t in the works! I can be convinced to make minor alterations, so long as the requests are polite, but I generally write with my own style._
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> _**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all characters therefrom are J.K. Rowlings’ babies, not mine; and I’m not earning a red cent off this fun exercise._
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> _Enjoy!_

### Chapter 1

“Miss Granger...a word, if you would?”

Hermione stopped and turned at the Headmaster’s quiet request from behind, Ron and Harry doing likewise. Dumbledore had stepped from a darkened alcove after they passed it on their way back to Gryffindor Tower, after their last class of the day. He was watching her with shadowed blue eyes that held none of their usual amused twinkle.

An all too familiar apprehensive chill slithered up her spine at his oddly serious look. She gripped the school books in her arms tighter and drew in a quiet, calming breath before replying with a polite nod, “Of course, Headmaster.” 

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked briefly between Ron and Harry before returning to her. There was only the barest hint of his usual genial smile as he quietly said, “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, please continue on your way. I will escort Miss Granger to her dorm when we are through. Please don’t wait up for her; this might take quite a while.”

The chill suddenly grew, and turned Hermione’s spine to a solid column of ice. She knew she’d done nothing to be in trouble for--at least, not in this school year, not yet; which brought to the front of her mind her greatest fear.

Harry’s scar had been paining him for two days straight, now...Voldemort was very, very angry. It had started when a vision woke Harry and nearly the whole of Gryffindor Tower with the force of his own screaming, except the silencing wards he and Ron had put around his bed had held, allowing none but Ron to hear Harry’s distress. Harry had refused to tell her or Ron what he’d seen in the vision; not unusual, as the things Voldemort did--weren’t conducive to pleasant dreams...and Harry didn’t want his best friends suffering the kinds of nightmares he had from them, even by proxy. Hermione had made sure her unusually pale and quiet friend went to Dumbledore first thing in the morning, even if the Headmaster seemed to be trying to avoid Harry this year for some reason.

Considering Harry’s increasing visions this school year, Hermione had become more than suspicious that the Headmaster had concluded that her friend’s link to Voldemort might not be one-way. That would certainly account for Harry’s suddenly being left in the dark about Order-related things so much more than before, as well as the sudden almost complete avoidance by Dumbledore. The Headmaster certainly wouldn’t risk being in Harry’s presence if Voldemort were likely to unexpectedly possess him! And the Order would have to be _insane_ to keep Harry up-to-date on their real plans to fight Voldemort, if the Dark Lord himself might just be listening through Harry’s ears.

If Harry hadn’t been so tetchy about the whole business, Hermione might have been able to explain all of that to him before now. She’d been getting very frustrated by his unwillingness to listen to any attempt to explain or justify the behavior of the adult Order members, especially the Headmaster. He was getting way too emotional to reason with, lately! He was so touchy, she and Ron could hardly talk about anything at all without him flying off the handle. Even Quidditch wasn’t a distraction! And if he didn’t start yelling at them, he just disappeared! Taking the Marauders’ Map with him, more’s the pity, so they’d have to wait and worry after each frantic burst of wild searching. Yelling at him for worrying them when he finally showed up only helped him in his efforts to push them away, “for their own good”.

Harry’s behavior worried her. He was going to try to do something rash, soon; she just knew it! He never could believe that any adult could be trusted with his wellbeing; she blamed that on those despicable relatives of his. She had to keep close tabs on him at all times, now, so she could at least try to head off some of the more...fanciful ideas he was prone to come up with. Ron wasn’t really any help in that; he was more likely to be egging Harry on, especially if they were speculating on the “inherent evilness” of all Slytherins! She’d long ago despaired of ever disabusing them of that ridiculous notion.

It wasn’t Ravenclaw that the Sorting Hat had truly wanted to put _her_ in, after all; and the boys ought to know by now that she most certainly wasn’t evil! But she’d been certain at the time that Harry was going to end up in Gryffindor, so into Gryffindor she’d bullied the Hat to place her. Though she’d had a subsequent Very Bad Moment when Harry’s Sorting had taken so unusually long... He’d yet to tell her or Ron which House he’d had to argue himself out of. About the only one that made sense was Slytherin, though he’d taken pains through the years to excise any vague hint of Slytherin behavior from himself, more’s the pity. He could use a little Slytherin cunning, if he was going to be of any use against Voldemort!

Hermione stared hard at the Headmaster’s face, trying to read his too-carefully-controlled expression as she reined in her mind’s attempt to distract herself with irrelevancies. Something was definitely wrong... She just prayed it wasn’t--wasn’t the _worst-case_ kind of wrong, that she’d been dreading more and more ever since Voldemort’s return. It was a possibility that she’d been reluctantly trying to prepare herself for since dinner the night before. After all, _he_ had been missing, since the day before Harry’s first vision.

Her mind insisted on flinching away from thoughts of what she was now almost certain had happened.

Harry couldn’t help his step forward, his and Ron’s faces showing their alarm. “Sir, is Hermione in trouble? What’s happened?”

The Headmaster’s eyes fastened on Harry’s in an unaccountably stern look that made the boy step back, eyes widening in surprise. After the way the old man had been avoiding Harry so far this school year, the boy didn’t know what to make of this sudden, unexpected near-harshness. “Mr. Potter. Forgive my bluntness, but this is none of your business. If Miss Granger chooses to tell you later, that is her choice.” The old man’s voice was quite firm and allowed for no argument--quite unlike his usually humorous, amiable self. It wasn’t often that Dumbledore let his true power shine through; but when he did, it was impossible not to be intimidated by it. The magic crackled about him in an invisible halo, licking at their nerves, making him seem ten times his true size and raising neck hairs and instant obedience, both, in all those around him.

Harry gulped, nodded, and allowed a wide-eyed Ron to drag him away backwards by the arm, nearly stumbling before finally turning around to watch where he was going. Both boys cast frequent worried glances over their shoulders until they went out of sight around a corner. There was no doubt that if they’d had Harry’s cloak of invisibility within reach, they’d be doubling back to stick to Hermione like grunge to a cauldron that had just been used to make a Sticking Potion--the ones Professor Snape saved specifically for his absolute worse detentions.

Hermione gave the Headmaster a worried look of her own as he gently set a hand on her shoulder and proceeded to steer her along the corridor. The almost grim set to his features held her silent; he’d tell her what had happened soon enough, and it most likely was something best not discussed where anyone could overhear. Especially if he wasn’t allowing Harry to hear it.

Especially if it had anything to do with her father...

A sudden wave of panic enveloped her, the ice in her spine making her shiver involuntarily. _Had_ something happened to her father?! That would certainly account for the Headmaster’s odd behavior! Stumbling slightly as her body went numb with a kind of horrified anticipation, unable to stave off the intolerable thought any longer, Hermione bit her lip and looked at Dumbledore. Heart pounding, she decided to risk a quick question. “Headmaster--is--is _he--?”_ She kept the rest of her words behind clenched teeth, knowing she was understood by one of the only two wizards and one witch who knew her family’s secret.

Dumbledore cast a concerned glance at her, hardly pausing his rather swift pace. His hand pressed her shoulder in reassurance as he quietly stated, “It’s bad--but Madame Pomphrey thinks everything will be alright, with a bit of time.”

Hermione ducked her head to hide the sudden not-quite-relieved tears threatening to burst from her eyes, hugging her books higher against her chest and nearly burying her face in them. Her over-full book bag bumped gently against her hip in counter-point to her stride.

He wasn’t dead, then; and he was _here,_ safe and within her reach, at Hogwarts. Her worst fear hadn’t been realized--not yet. But what about her second-worst fear...? Just how bad was ‘bad,’ and how much time was needed for things to ‘be alright’? Hermione didn’t appreciate the Headmaster’s trait of eternal optimism any more than her father did; she’d rather be told the cold, hard facts, so she could accept them and get to work on trying to change things when necessary. She never wanted to build her hopes on a falsity; it was too painful when the pretty lie failed, _knowing_ you could have done something different, had you only known the truth in time.

The Headmaster did pause a moment then, shifting his hand so his arm was about her shoulders, pulling her in for a brief, comforting hug. He bent to whisper in her ear as their steps resumed, more slowly and matched in step, his voice gentle and full of compassion. “I know, child. Hold on--we’ll be at the Infirmary shortly. He’s not awake yet--you’ll be able to let it all out.”

A sniffle and a choked-off laugh with no humor in it were all she could give in answer. She knew how much it would upset her father to see her fall to pieces over him; he _hated_ seeing either her or her mother cry. A deep breath and another, stronger sniffle, and she raised her head with determination, her face grim in an eerily familiar way for a moment before she wiped all expression from it. The rest of the trek to the Infirmary was conducted in silence, though the Headmaster occasionally cast concerned glances her way. It wasn’t often Hermione resembled her father quite so closely--at least, not his so carefully crafted public persona.

Pausing at the entry doors, Hermione took yet another deep breath and visibly composed herself. It wouldn’t do to be seen falling to pieces, if her father had awakened before she got there; he’d a knack for regaining consciousness quicker than Madam Pomphrey thought possible, and she didn’t want to disappoint him with her lack of self-control _this_ late in the game. Anyone could be in the public area of the Infirmary, and see her! Until she was safely within her father’s private room, she could ruin more years of sacrifice than she’d been alive with a mere moment’s carelessness! She refused to let that happen; the Headmaster hadn’t told her the reason for secrecy was ended yet, and much as she hated the thought of continuing the game after something like this--it was her father’s choice. He had to do as he believed was right. And she had to accept that, even as she expected him to do likewise for her choices that pained him.

Resolve stiffening her spine and hardening her eyes, she prepared herself for the worst while praying fervently for better, carefully setting her face in a kind of vaguely rebellious, sulky annoyance that would not betray a thing of importance to one not in the know. The Headmaster might be hauling her in for an unwanted physical, from all appearances.

A quick glance at Dumbledore brought her an encouraging nod and a pat on her shoulder. Squaring her shoulders, her fingers white-knuckled on her books and slowly going numb without her consciously noticing, she stepped in when the Headmaster opened the doors for her.

Madam Pomphrey spotted them immediately from across the room. She turned from her supply cabinet holding four vials on a tray and nodded solemnly to Hermione, eyes grave but not sorrowful. Hermione took that as more reassurance than all of Dumbledore’s words so far; she knew the medi-witch was quite fond of her father, and would not be nearly so calm if--if...things weren’t...going well. The lack of others in the room was also comforting. Hermione released her contrived expression after a careful look around, letting some of her worry show.

The medi-witch briskly stepped towards them so she would not have to shout when she assured in a kind, warm voice, “It will be all right, dear. He’s past the worst; he mainly needs rest, now, along with a few restorative potions, of course. Come along; your being there will do him good.” With a decisive nod, the medi-witch led them to the farthest private room of the Infirmary--the one bespelled so only those who knew it was there could even find it, and only those keyed specifically to the wards could enter at all.

Standing frozen at the private door when Dumbledore opened it for them, after Madam Pomphrey had bustled inside, Hermione swallowed and nervously glanced once more at the Headmaster. He gave her a rather sad smile, nodding her in as he mentioned, “Your mother has been contacted; she will be here later this evening. I’ve sent Professor Lupin to fetch her.”

Hermione nodded rather absently, her eyes now fixed on the still figure in the only bed in the private room.

He was _so_ still...the only movement was the subtle, slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He was as pale as the white sheet that was tucked up under his arms, and he wore the drab hospital pajamas that she well knew he loathed. Hermione stifled the urge to giggle madly as she pictured his disgust when he woke and found himself wearing the itchy, scratchy things. She could just hear the scathing commentary.

She barely noticed when a chair was slid next to her, the books gently pried from her grasp and the book bag slipped from her shoulder by still nimble old fingers. She hadn’t even been aware of quietly sidling up to the bedside. Gentle hands on her shoulders lightly pushed her down to sit at her father’s side. After a moment, her hands crept up and grasped the pale, chill hand nearest her, wrapping the long, fine-boned fingers within her own shorter ones.

He didn’t look anywhere near as bad as she’d feared...even if only close watching told her he was even breathing. It could have been so much worse--! It looked like he still had all of his limbs, he wasn’t twitching even while unconscious from too much Cruciatus...though what bruising she could see on his too-pale skin bespoke broken bones from the violence obviously inflicted upon him. The temporary relief let her keep her tears entirely internal, at least until he should wake, and she could discover if they’d done anything to his mind. Neither Madam Pomfrey nor the Headmaster had warned her of that possibility, so she pinned her hopes that he’d been conscious enough when he’d been found to speak. So she set herself to wait patiently through her vigil, however long it should take.

When Helen Granger was escorted into the room two hours later to join in the vigil, she claimed her husband’s other hand in silence, both of them waiting dry-eyed and almost patiently for him to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy my story!


	2. Chapter 2

### Chapter 2

Harry and Ron stayed up in the Gryffindor Common room after dinner, waiting for Hermione in spite of the Headmaster’s words. They were too worried to go to bed; they’d never get to sleep! Not after she hadn’t come to the Great Hall to eat with them. Just how long was the Headmaster going to keep her?! They spent most of their time playing wizard’s chess, as neither could possibly concentrate enough to even think about doing homework; that wasn’t important, they could do it any time. It was Friday night! They had the whole entire weekend to mess with homework. Never mind that Hermione would likely verbally skin them when she found out they’d used her as an excuse to put it off...

They’d exhausted speculation as to what was going on by the end of the first hour after dinner; they simply didn’t know enough. Hermione was always the one who could seemingly pull answers out of thin air! Harry’s temper had gotten dark enough after that, Ron became unwilling to dwell on anything referring even vaguely to the Headmaster and his apparent snubbing of Harry this year. One descent into yelling at each other was enough for Ron, who couldn’t really think of any arguments to play Devil’s Advocate on Dumbledore’s side, anyway. That was Hermione’s job! She was the smart one; he’d bet _she_ could figure out what the Headmaster was up to, in their place.

But she already knew, didn’t she? And she’d certainly fill them in on everything as soon as she got back. The Headmaster had even said it was up to her to tell them what was going on. So they just had to wait, much as they’d rather be _doing_ something.

Their chess game had degenerated into simply having the pieces attack each other, watching them enact more and more elaborate death scenes as the pieces actually got into it and started really hamming things up, when the Headmaster suddenly came through the portrait hole entrance. It was nearly midnight, and the common room was empty but for them. Jumping to their feet, they barely had time to acknowledge “Headmaster!” before Dumbledore was standing by them, a reassuring if muted twinkle back in his eyes as he watched in quiet bemusement as a White Knight completed a three-minute ‘death’ scene. He waited for the highly over-dramatized performance to finish before speaking, in spite of the boys’ obvious impatience, simply raising a hand to quiet them. When the Knight was done, Dumbledore clapped lightly and gave a small smile, causing the Knight to raise his head and smirk briefly before collapsing again.

Then the kindly blue eyes, so piercing despite the twinkling settled their gaze on the boys, who squirmed a bit at the intensity. “As I thought, the two of you are still up.” His slightly more stern look made them shrink into themselves a bit in embarrassment, though this really wasn’t that unusual a time for the boys to be still awake, especially on a Friday night. “As it happens, that turns out to be a good thing, as now I do not have to wake you.” The Headmaster smiled at them, placing a hand on a shoulder of each boy and turning them towards the portrait hole, gently pushing them towards it. “Hermione will wish your presence shortly, I would say; the time for secrecy has passed, and I dare say you are the very first people she will want to know. Come along, now, boys...”

The Headmaster refused to answer any questions as he ushered them from Gryffindor Tower, not even their more frantic near-demands when they realized they were heading towards the Infirmary. Dumbledore firmly directed the conversation to reminiscences about things at Hogwarts throughout his time there--the eccentricities of various portraits and magical things as they passed them; the more amusing peccadilloes of various students past and present; staff hi-jinx over the years that were pulled on each other to relieve stress, or on particularly arrogant students to bring them down a peg...

The boys didn’t really think Hermione could have been injured in the five hours since they’d seen her last, especially as she’d supposedly been in the Headmaster’s care the whole time; but they couldn’t think of another reason for her to be in the Infirmary! And hadn’t she used a Time-Turner, given to her by the Headmaster, back in third year? What if she’d gotten one again?! Who knew _how_ long she’d really been gone from them in that case, or what could have happened to her! They couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t tell them _anything--!_

Discretion had never been a strong suit of either boy, in spite of occasional brief flashes of it on Harry’s part. Neither boy had matured enough to really grasp the concept of _patience,_ yet; let alone how hasty words heard by the wrong ears could cause real and devastating long-term harm. Even their own episodes of eavesdropping hadn’t taught them anything about discretion. The Headmaster was well aware of this, infuriating as his method of dealing with the problem was to the boys.

Dumbledore propelled the two through the main room of the Infirmary and all the way to the back, where they gaped as what they’d always thought was a solid stone wall melted into a closed wooden door, at a muttered incantation and some wand waving on the Headmaster’s part. Dumbledore pushed the door open, and Harry and Ron traded an anxious look as they nervously stepped inside the secret room. They were now on the privileged list to see through its special wards.

“Hermione!”

They couldn’t help but gasp her name in relief as they saw their friend, looking quite all right if a bit pale, sitting in a chair pulled close by the single bed. They couldn’t see who lay there as Hermione’s body blocked his head from their view, other than noting from the size of the body and the way the sheet was draped that it must be a grown man.

A woman whom the boys guessed by her likeness to Hermione to be her mother was sitting on the other side of the bed, she and Hermione each holding one of the patient’s hands. Mother and daughter glanced up at the boys with identical worried brown eyes. Mrs. Granger looked like a slightly older version of her daughter, except her hair was done up in a complicated chignon, and she seemed like she’d be taller if she were standing. 

Hermione sent the Headmaster a nervous look before turning in place to face her best friends, keeping her hold of the patient’s hand. She held her free hand up to stop them when Harry and Ron would have rushed right to her side, concerned by the tear tracks they saw on her face and her red-rimmed eyes; sure signs she’d been crying, maybe for most of the time they’d been apart. Each boy felt a surge of resentment at the Headmaster for keeping them from supporting their friend through--whatever had happened. She’d obviously needed them here!

“Hermione, what’s going on? Is that--is that your father?” Harry blurted his sudden guess on the fly, not bothering to wonder why Hermione’s Muggle parents would have been brought to the Hogwarts Infirmary, of all places. Why not a Muggle hospital; or St. Mungo’s, if the problem was a curse? Maybe it was a security concern; if Death Eaters had attacked them, or something like that, Hogwarts was certainly safer. “What happened to him?” Harry’s bright emerald eyes bore into hers as he tried to guess what was going on, his worry growing as she visibly gathered herself, as if to deliver bad news. “Hermione?!”

She shook her head, casting a pleading glance at her mother who nodded silently, eyes warm with approval and support through the shadow of her concern. Swallowing back a fresh onslaught of tears, Hermione turned back to the boys. She took a deep breath, and began her explanation in a voice that was almost steady.

“My father--he’s not a dentist; he’s a wizard. I’m a half-blood, not a Muggle-born, though I was raised as a Muggle until I got my Hogwarts letter.”

Ron and Harry stared at her in confusion, wondering for a moment what that had to do with the current situation, surprising as it was. They’d had no idea! She went on in a somewhat more shaky voice, dreading how they were going to take this revelation--Ron, especially. 

“My father’s been a member of the Order of the Phoenix since before any of us were born. His work is very dangerous, and he and my mother decided that anyone finding out about their marriage couldn’t be risked, for her safety--and later for mine. So my mother and my Uncle Philip, her brother, moved to London, where no one would know them; and they posed as husband and wife. I was raised with infrequent visits from my real father, and was only told the truth when they were certain I wouldn’t accidentally let the secret slip.”

Ron and Harry were riveted by her story, Ron’s eyes wide as saucers, both their mouths agape. Taking a deep breath, Hermione went on, “Two days ago, my father’s role in the war was found out by-- _Voldemort.”_ The venom in her voice and the sheer rage in her eyes as she spoke that hated name made everyone conscious flinch; including Dumbledore, amazingly enough. “He was--“ She paused and swallowed, her face contorting as she held back more tears. “He was tortured nearly to d-death. He was finally able to get at the emergency portkey the Headmaster had given him, which brought him straight here, to the Hogwarts Infirmary. Madam Pomphrey was able to save his life; and the Headmaster brought my mother and I here, to be with him when he wakes.”

She paused again, this time giving them a watery, tremulous smile that was almost apologetic. Harry’s face had frozen; she knew he was suddenly seeing--what he’d seen in that vision, two nights ago. He didn’t seem able to really put two and two together to get four yet, though; he didn’t want to. She suppressed the urge to giggle hysterically; Harry was diving head-first into a sea of serious denial, and her next words would raise the sea’s bottom to an illusion-shattering depth of mere inches. Her best friends were about to slam into some uncomfortable revelations.

“As he can no longer spy on Voldemort, there’s no longer any reason keep this from you two. Mother and I will be staying here at Hogwarts with my father as soon as he recovers, and through the summer. In...in his quarters.”

The boys exchanged a confused look, though Harry’s was shadowed by disbelieving dread before they asked in perfect unison, “In his quarters?” Their minds hadn’t quite caught on to the clues their friend had fed them; they were thinking guest quarters were going to be assigned, and weren’t quite grasping her verbal emphasis on the words. Not terribly surprising, really; it was Hermione, after all, who was usually the ‘brains’ of the Golden Trio, not the boys. They’d gotten into the habit of relying on her to explain the difficult and confusing things to them.

Hermione let out a choked-off laugh and turned away from them, turning back the other way as she shifted down towards the middle of the bed so she wasn’t blocking their view of the face of the gravely injured man on the bed. She never released her grip on his hand, though.

If she hadn’t been dreading their finding out so much, if the circumstances hadn’t been so grave, she’d have collapsed in gales of helpless laughter as their expressions took all of three seconds to turn more horrified than if Voldemort, himself had been laying there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**AN:** Anybody who hasn’t made a guess yet--go ahead! Guess! Guess guess guess! I promise, the next chapter will have the answer, though I’m sure you’ve all figured it out by now. ,’=} >_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **AN:** ::makes disgusted face:: RL is a pain in the chassis. I swear, if my basement floods _ one _more time--! Knee-deep faster’n_ three _sump pumps can suck it out means replacing the bottom element and thermostat on the hot water heater, plus the regulator valve on the furnace...::growls:: At least it’s not below freezing outside anymore, so two days heatless while getting ahead of the drain-in so the furnace can be worked on isn’t the deal it was just after Christmas...::exasperated sigh:: $400 in expenses three times so far this year means grabbing every bit of extra work I can get my hands on, which shoves non-money-making stuff (like writing fanfics) to the back burner. ::highly remorseful sigh::_
> 
>  _Helen’s thoughts here aren’t canon, of course; but if you remember that canon comes from the very biased viewpoint of a rather sensitive, impressionable young boy with nowhere near a sophisticated understanding of_ any _thing yet, who has a horrible track record of being completely and utterly Wrong in his judgments of a certain professor that he has a personal dislike of...well, I don’t think her opinions are_ that _much of a stretch. Longer AN is at the end of this chapter, if you’re interested._

### Chapter 3

Ron’s and Harry’s eyes almost seemed to bug out of their faces, their jaws dropping even farther. They both gasped for air the moment they saw past the horrible bruising and bandages partially covering the injured man’s parchment-pale face, and registered that so-distinctive hooked beak of a nose. They stepped backwards as one, away from the so-despised figure revealed on the bed, as if the unconscious man were about to rise up at any instant and bite their heads off as he did during class.

“S--Sss--Sn-- _Snape?!!”_

Harry’s disjointed stutter made Helen Snape _ne_ Granger smile in amusement. She knew all about her husband’s snarky, cantankerous ‘working’ attitude, and just how much he exaggerated it for his students’ benefit--especially these two particular students. She’d helped him perfect it, after all! 

It was no easy job, teaching a dangerous subject like Potions to hormone-driven teen and pre-teen witches and wizards; most of whom had the attention span of a tse-tse fly even for subjects they _liked._ The potential for death and disaster in a Potions classroom was simply immense. She was very proud that her husband held the completely unchallenged record of never once losing a student to death, dismemberment, or permanent disfigurement of any kind, not in all fifteen years he’d been teaching. The second longest any other Potions Professor had ever gone was one single year--after having taught for _ten years._ And that wasn’t just a Hogwarts record!

Which was more important--a student’s ego, or their life? Severus could tell within the first four lessons if a student would forever be a disaster waiting to happen, and he kept a close watch on the hopeless ones, trying his best to discourage them from any kind of career involving the making of potions. If they exerted themselves and overcame both his discouragement and whatever the original problem was, then they could possibly become decent potions makers. If they didn’t try hard, then at least they would be kept from blowing up themselves and any innocent bystanders after graduating Hogwarts, when they wouldn’t have Severus riding herd over their efforts; because they’d never willingly touch a cauldron again in their lives!

It had amused Helen to learn how Hogwarts alumni who had been Potions students in Severus’ first years of teaching, and disliked him with the passion of all thwarted students, changed their tune and absolutely refused to let their own children be taught by any other school’s Potions Master after doing a little research into school safety records. As parents, they much preferred their children catching the rough side of Severus’ tongue to the kinds of accidents that befell other professors’ Potions students. 

In hindsight, they realized that he actually hadn’t been nearly as cruelly awful as they’d thought him at the time; he was more--rudely blunt. The few who’d settled inter-couple arguments over his awfulness through use of a Pensieve were her favorite stories; they hadn’t realized just how much their teenage perceptions had been clouded by emotion. Some hadn’t even heard him correctly as the memory was being made! Things they’d thought of at the time as deadly insults, from an adult’s perspective seemed to be merely sarcastic remarks that were, they reluctantly admitted, usually rather--witty. In a darkly humorous, razor-edged way, that most adolescents were guaranteed to not understand.

Helen didn’t understand why the Wizarding World insisted children so young and immature should be taught something so inherently dangerous as Potions! Theory might be all right for the younger years, but in her opinion, no child under the age of sixteen should be allowed anywhere near an actual cauldron! It was like handing Muggle children sticks of dynamite and telling them to go play with them! She clearly remembered her husband’s own Hogwarts student years, and the summer experiments he did. The Ministry of Magic had been quite lax about enforcing the underage magic rules back then, and Severus and Lily had taken full advantage of it. Some of their experiments had been quite--explosive. To put it mildly...

Helen shuddered in memory, glad she’d been forbidden entrance to their experiments lair. Mad scientists had nothing on Severus and Lily on a roll! For that matter, neither did military demolitions experts. Her lips twitched as she remembered those summers. Those two had become quite adept at Reparo, and all the related reparation and reconstruction spells.

Her husband’s safety record didn’t even take into account his subtle efforts to hamper the learning of those children of Death Eaters, and the less fanatical Voldemort supporters...even while he tried to encourage his other students to _think,_ to pay attention to the little things; and most importantly, to never expect life to be fair and rosy when real life was more than likely to be the opposite. Those he ‘coddled’ never learned his subject well; those he picked on always got the better O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. grades. His tactics worked, though most of his students never did catch on; but that meant very, very few students ever came to be on friendly terms with their former Potions Professor later in life, as most would avoid him assiduously. The few densest ones would even work to sabotage him, if the opportunity were handed to them; luckily those were very few in number.

It also meant that current students tended to be about as fond of him as they were of Dementors. Luckily, Severus Snape was about as interested in befriending the “little dunderheads” as he was in befriending Sybil Trelawney. He had always insisted that so long as he had Helen and Hermione, what need did he have for anyone else’s good regard?

(Except possibly for Albus Dumbledore; but Helen rather thought the Headmaster had yet to gain back much of her husband’s personal trust, since that inexcusable incident with the werewolf, back in his fifth student year. Severus might trust the man professionally, and in regards to the war effort against Voldemort; but any Slytherin knew better than to count on Albus Dumbledore’s good will in a personal matter, especially if a Gryffindor might be involved somewhere in the problem. Now that his spying days were over and done, maybe Helen would finally get her longed-for opportunity to point out the Headmaster’s shortcomings to his face...)

Helen was always curious why even the supposedly bright Ravenclaw students never caught on to the fact that Hogwarts in-school grades didn’t matter a flying fig--only the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores counted for anything in the Wizarding World. No one but the students themselves, the teaching staff, and their own parents or guardians even _saw_ those in-school grades at the end of the year, or at any other time unless the students told someone themselves.

Their Hermione had figured it out right after she’d found out what the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were. Hermione’s only real reason for wanting good in-school grades, never mind her school image of a bookworm study-holic, was her father--she was trying to beat his old record, much to his proud amusement. She was doing a fair job of it to date. Granted, she’d dropped Divination--but Severus had gotten himself a Troll in that class, as he’d only stayed in it “to prove just how ineffectual and misleading” such things could be. His well-thought-out, logical, and fact-based essays hadn’t exactly endeared him to the Professor of the time, though Helen found reading the copies of his papers that he’d saved to be quite entertaining. Teenagers could be so serious about such silly things! Proving Divination to be a load of bull had been Severus’ own personal S.P.E.W. campaign...and unfortunately, about as ineffective and unappreciated as their daughter’s efforts on behalf of the House-elves.

As these thoughts concluded in her mind, Helen’s present concern for her husband came back to the forefront of her thoughts and she brought his flaccid hand up to press the back against her heart, eyes scanning his face for any hint that he might soon wake. Seeing no change, she sighed her disappointment before straightening her back and staring at the still spluttering young boys. Her daughter was having no luck getting a word in edge-wise through their panicked, nearly hysterical denials and accusations of poor jokes. 

The flicker of betrayal showing in the dark-haired boy’s eyes caught Helen’s attention; _that_ would need dealing with. Hermione cared a great deal for these two boys, and would never voluntarily do anything to hurt them. They were like brothers to her. Having them mistrust her would cause Hermione a great deal of unnecessary emotional pain.

Clearing her throat, Helen raised one eyebrow in her husband’s very manner as the boys’ eyes flicked towards her. Her words were soft when she spoke, but carried just as much bite as anything Severus had ever hissed at them. It was amazing what clear enunciation and a direct gaze could do...

“Boys. _Sit.”_

Harry and Ron found themselves planted on chairs they hadn’t consciously noticed along the wall behind them. Amusingly enough, Albus Dumbledore also dropped suddenly into a seat, then looked startled at his own reaction, blinking and looking all about himself and then at his seat, as if he didn’t know how that had happened. Helen bit back a smirk as the Headmaster gave her an appreciative look, eyebrows rising.

Helen had helped Severus create his teaching persona, after all. She wasn’t a dentist like her brother; in addition to her part-time practice as a licensed Psychologist, she’d been driving a school bus “for fun” for more than fifteen years, including routes with children who had...behavioral difficulties. She knew _exactly_ what tone of voice was necessary to make children of all sorts instantly obey, and all of the details as to why it worked. Her passengers’ safety depended upon their obedience; she didn’t have a teacher’s luxury of time to deal with recalcitrant children--they had to obey, _now._

All eyes were now on Helen. She firmed her expression, ignoring the prickling sensation about her eyes as she spoke directly to her daughter’s best friends with an intensity that wouldn’t let them look away. “Hermione and I love her father very much. He’s spent longer than you’ve been alive playing a part that he detests. That is done now; when--“ Her voice wobbled, ever so slightly, then firmed with belief. Madame Pomphrey had _promised,_ after all. _“When_ he wakes...that’s over and done with; he’ll be able to be himself, from now on. He won’t miraculously turn into a man of sweetness and light,” she smirked at the snorts from all around, “but he will no longer be forced to appear to favor the children of Voldemort’s followers over all others...and he won’t have to pretend to an animosity that doesn’t really exist.”

Helen ignored the Weasley boy’s flinch at the taboo name, fixing her eyes on Harry Potter. There was no longer any reason just then to be concerned about Voldemort’s attention focusing on them, after his name was spoken in the vicinity of that hideous mark he branded his followers with. _Let_ him hear what she had to say now; it was hardly a strategic secret of the Light. Proper precautions could be taken later on to shield her husband’s hated mark from sound, and to deal with any direct link the madman might have forged with the boy.

“Severus also won’t have to treat your House worse than any other...” A decidedly sly smile stole over her features as she slanted her eyes to her daughter, whose face took on an expression of rather sour amusement as her mother quipped, “He can now treat all four Houses equally horribly.”

Dumbledore couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle, while the boys took on expressions that brought to mind troubles with constipation. Helen’s own chuckles broke free while Hermione shook her head and grinned, laughing silently at her mother’s odd sense of humor.

“Even better...will be Mr. Malfoy’s expression--when he gets...the points taken, his behavior deserves...”

Everyone focused on the weakly smirking man on the bed at those hoarsely whispered words, Harry and Ron each startling to their feet and a step away. Dumbledore jumped up and rushed closer, joining the ladies in their glad exclamations.

The voice had been nothing like its usual confident, silken-deep tones, but the habitual snarky, sarcastic undertone was reassuringly present. Helen and Hermione each gripped one of his hands tightly in both of theirs, relief and joy breaking over their faces in a rush as they bent over him. Hermione brought a still mostly limp hand up to her tear-stained face, closing her eyes and pressing the back against her cheek as fresh tears of relief poured. Her mother gave an inarticulate but undeniably glad cry before all but throwing herself onto her husband, ignoring the bandages except to be careful where she pressed, and giving him a wake-up kiss that had the grinning Headmaster and the boys spinning away, all three with red cheeks. Hermione only gave a glad sob as her eyes opened to the sight, smiling brighter than anyone had seen her do in years.

When Helen came up for air what seemed like an eternity later, she worked herself onto the bed at her husband’s side until his head was resting on her shoulder, her arms wrapped possessively about him, her cheek resting atop his head; the length of her body pressed close to his. She gently stroked at his stringy, bed-tangled hair and along the side of his face, even as his shaky hand reached up awkwardly to press her shoulder. It was clear from the hesitancy of the movement that it caused him no small amount of pain. 

Hermione had refused to release his other hand; he squeezed back in reassurance, tilting his head a bit to smile slightly at his daughter, an unusual contentment softening angular, gaunt features. Obsidian eyes, half-closed with exhaustion, only seemed able to see his wife and daughter.

After several minutes, the Headmaster gently cleared his throat from his spot partially behind Hermione. Snape blinked and glanced up at him, still somewhat woozy from painkilling potions, a bit of an actual _smile_ still playing about the visible portion of his features. A slight sound from behind Dumbledore drew Snape’s eyes, which then narrowed with displeasure as he identified the two boys shuffling nervously in place, looking everywhere but towards the little family. Recent memory caught up as the current reality of his situation dawned in the former spy’s eyes. 

Before he could fall back on habit and snap at the boys his habitual sneer fell away, to leave a rather pleasantly surprised expression as he consciously realized he no longer had to maintain his former animosity with them. He blinked, glancing at his still happily smiling daughter, then purposefully let down the guards he’d kept on his expression for the last twenty-odd years, slightly lowering the Occlusion of his mind.

Harry and Ron nearly fainted to see the pleased, relatively _gentle_ smile that stole over their despised Potions professor’s face as he looked at his wife and daughter. The unaccustomed expression made him appear, not handsome; but no longer so ugly as they’d always thought him. The boys stepped back in perfect tandem, eyes nearly bugging out of their faces in their shock. When his lips twitched into a full-blown grin, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest and an actual _twinkle_ appearing in those coal-black eyes, the boys exchanged a look of pure panic and nearly fled the room. The Headmaster’s hands suddenly landing on their shoulders was the only thing that kept them there to face what they were absolutely certain was going to be their ultimate doom--even if Dumbledore was smiling and twinkling more than anyone had seen in ages. The boys weren’t watching _him!_

Hermione saw her father’s amusement and looked up in time to see the boys’ reaction--they were practically clinging to each other in terror. Her uncontrollable giggles drew her mother’s eyes, and more amused laughter. It wasn’t long before the small family was in a tight three-way hug, Snape buried beneath his almost hysterically relieved women-folk, tears brimming even in his shadowed obsidian eyes as he weakly clutched them to him with trembling arms.

The Headmaster’s smile saddened, and he nodded in understanding when he caught the distressed glance his Potions Master sent him. Severus was an intensely private man, who had spent the vast majority of the last three decades living a double life where secrecy was of the utmost importance. It was going to take time for him to adjust to having the option of being open. Even so, he obviously would prefer to keep such private moments as this, private. Gently tugging on the boys’ shoulders, Dumbledore steered them from the room and closed the door firmly behind them, giving the family some privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: ::smirk:: I can recall off-hand stumbling across maybe three stories so far where Hermione was Snape’s daughter; but none of them involved Snape’s happily-chosen marriage to her mother, or Hermione--or even Snape!--discovering her parentage before she comes to Hogwarts, let alone them having anything like an amicable relationship. If anybody wants to recommend any Hermione as Snape’s daughter fics to me, I’d welcome them! Just--please, no drabbles. ::makes a face:: Drabbles are way too short!!_
> 
> _I’ve read enough fanfics by now that the Snape I’ve built up in my head, the one I like most to read fanfics about, may be a snarky, sarcastic SOB--but he’s also an honorable bastard, and just as capable of deep emotions as anybody else, even if they’re not identical to everybody else’s in the same situations. He’s a much better actor than most folks, hiding behind projected anger a lot; and rather anti-social to boot, mostly being uncomfortable around people unless they make the effort to get under that cast-iron skin of his, and accept him for what he_ is, _not what they want him to be. As kids are the most sensitive things on the planet, as well as the least perceptive, I figure Helen’s thoughts are not beyond the realm of possibility. It’s easy enough for adults who know better to mistake certain types of cutting, sarcastic wit for pure insults, and to be unable to look beyond perceived slights or faults; how could we possibly expect children to figure him out? Especially if he doesn’t give a flying fig if they_ like _him or not._
> 
>  _Then again, I don’t consider an overabundance of overt compassion to be necessarily a Good Thing; as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In real life, I’ve seen good-intentioned folks cause_ ten times _the_ damage _to a person’s life that a “mean jerk” practicing tough love could--and the so-called mean jerk’s actions ended up_ helping _the person, helping a great deal more than the good-intentioned folks had ever aspired to do. ::shrugs:: Having your heart in the right place means absolutely nothing to your ability to help people unless your brain joins it; hearts just don’t think well._
> 
> _I’ve got a couple chapters more doodled out for this sketch of a fic, dealing with Hermione’s re-introduction to Hogwarts as Severus Snape’s daughter. Still nothing particularly resembling a plot, just character study. I want to go over them a bit more, they’re even more wordy and meandering than this one so it’ll probably be a while before I post them, if anyone’s still interested._
> 
> _Hopefully, something I’ve written will spark an idea for somebody else to write about (even if it’s something completely unrelated). That would be brilliant!_
> 
> _-Crazy_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: It’s been requested that I continue on with this a bit longer. I got side-tracked by a couple other stories demanding keyboard time, as well as Real Life...::blows raspberries at RL:: Enjoy._

### Chapter 4

Hermione practically lived in the Infirmary for the next week, in between classes. She even took all of her meals there, so she could be with her family. The boys were invited to join them whenever they wished, but neither Harry nor Ron were quite heroically brave enough to face their most loathed teacher-turned-best friend’s father any sooner than they absolutely had to--which was once more on Friday, under Professor McGonagall’s strict orders. McGonagall would have none of their paltry excuses for staying away. They were Gryffindors, for Merlin’s sake; and Gryffindors would never let a little thing like fear of insults stand between them and visiting a friend! They were going, and that was that!

(The boys didn’t need to know that McGonagall and Dumbledore were both deriving a great deal of amusement from their reactions as they tried to--no pun intended--weasel out of visiting Hermione. Oh, the teachers’ basic motive was all to the good--Hermione really did need her friends to stand by her, McGonagall especially had seen how the girl tried not to wilt every time she looked up at her Head of House’s visits and saw that once again, it wasn’t Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley; but Minerva and Albus saw nothing wrong with getting a little personal enjoyment from gently tormenting the boys. They weren’t _hurting_ them, after all; and it was all for a Good Cause. How in Merlin’s name could those two _possibly_ consider Professor Snape scarier than You-Know-Who?!)

Granted, hearing Snape himself say that he was actually going to be taking points off the formerly favored Draco Malfoy had done a great deal to drive home the fact that the Professor’s past behavior had not been completely his personal choice; but Mrs. Granger’s joke about now treating all the Houses equally horribly--

\--Mrs. Granger? Or was it really Mrs. Snape? Or Granger-Snape? For that matter, what was _Hermione’s_ real name? Hermione Snape!? It was so confusing! Harry, especially couldn’t believe that Hermione had kept such a _major_ secret from them, for all their years together! Never mind that Harry had pretty much kept most of the Dursleys’ neglectful abuse of him a secret from both Ron and Hermione, for that same time, and still hadn’t come clean about it; Harry simply didn’t want to appear weak to them. 

But _Hermione’s_ secret--! That was her very _identity!_ How could she have kept that from them?!

Ron was also wondering if he shouldn’t feel put out, that he didn’t have a secret of his own to withhold from the other two. Not that he realized what Harry’s secret was; but he and Hermione had long suspected that Harry had one. They’d figured that either the Dursleys were more rotten to Harry than he’d ever said; except the Headmaster would know, wouldn’t he? And put a stop to anything nasty? --Or maybe it had to do with Harry’s visions from You-Know-Who; maybe he was having more than they knew about, and was suffering in silence to spare them. Ron had caught Harry using silencing charms on his bed at night so many times before, he’d finally gotten Hermione to come up with a charm to let him know not only when a silencing charm was put up; but when there was something loud going on to be silenced...such as screaming.

Harry’s attempts at suffering in silence was frustrating as anything to Ron and Hermione, as they wished nothing more than to spare Harry from suffering!

It was no wonder Hermione was always on them about calling the snarky old bat “Professor” all the time, though, wasn’t it? And no wonder she’d never joined in on their sniping commentary when they were safely away from the man. The boys winced to think of all the times they’d bad-mouthed Professor Snape, right in front of his own daughter. It was scary, really, that she’d never hexed them into puddles of goo for some of the things they’d said. They didn’t know whether they should be wary of delayed paybacks; Hermione had never seemed to hold much of a grudge before, but _Snape_ certainly did! He’d held his school-days grudge against James Potter all these years, and turned it against Harry, too!

...Hadn’t he? Or had that been part of his ‘act’ as a spy, too, as Hermione took pains to ‘suggest’ to them on their reluctant second visit to the Hospital wing? It was so confusing!

And Hermione could be even scarier than Snape, if only because she so rarely got really, truly, _scarily_ flaming mad. Draco Malfoy could personally attest to that! Even if the Gryffindors still didn’t know for sure if Hermione had actually broken the rotten Slytherin’s nose when she socked him one back in third year...Madam Pomphrey could have fixed that up in a heartbeat, after all. The Slytherin had run off too fast for them to know for sure. It was one of Harry’s and Ron’s fondest Hogwarts memories.

Harry and Ron kept mum on Hermione’s whereabouts when their fellow Gryffindors grilled them, stating that if Hermione wanted to tell them, she would; but it was nothing bad, she wasn’t in trouble or anything. Ron only let one bit slip the first evening; that it was a family matter, though he managed somehow to give no specifics--which led to some rather outrageous speculations by the time anyone laid eyes on Hermione, at their first class on Monday. Especially as this was about the first time in anyone’s memory that Ronald Weasley had been able to keep a secret so well!

When Hermione heard the first whisper, the only thing that saved Lavender Brown from the tongue-lashing of her life was the sheer hilarious stupidity of the girl’s gossip. Hermione was fighting too much laughter to properly lambast her; how in Merlin’s name could Lavender actually think something like _that_ \--of _Hermione?!_

Poor Harry and Ron spluttered incoherently with highly affronted shock when they found out _that_ rumor, and their own place in it. They spent the whole rest of the day vehemently denying the mere possibility that they might either _or both_ be daddies, by next Summer. 

Hermione’s helpless laughter every time someone brought it up in her hearing did a great deal more to dispel that rumor than anything the boys choked out in denial. If their reactions hadn’t been so hysterical, their House would have dropped teasing them much more quickly!

 _Imagine_ \--anybody accusing Hermione The Brain Granger, of being “in a family way”! Ginny Weasley’s snickering quip, spoken quite loudly in their common room and with quite a high level of sarcasm that it could only happen if the daddy was a _really_ good book, threw the maliciously intended rumor right back in Lavender’s face. 

The most ridiculous of the rest of the rumors died shortly thereafter, leaving everyone simply hoping no one in Hermione’s family had been seriously injured; or worse--died. She certainly looked stressed enough for the worst news, in spite of her laughter at the rumors about her. The sound did have a rather hysterical note to it, actually, when they thought about it. There were dark circles under her eyes, too, and she was--gasp!-- _avoiding the Library._ She wasn’t spotted in her favorite sanctuary for the entire _week!_

All Hermione would tell anyone was that they’d be finding out exactly what was going on the following Monday. Her calmly satisfied smile in the face of some rather fierce pestering confused her House-mates, but made Harry and Ron frankly nervous. They took it to mean that Professor Snape was going to be back teaching Potions on Monday--which they had for second period that day, worse the luck!--and they’d no idea what was going to happen. They were happy for Hermione, of course, that her father was healed up enough to be able to teach again; but the feeling of impending doom that stuck with them all the way through that weekend put a pall even on Quidditch practice. Classes with Snape never went well for Gryffindors--especially Harry Potter and his friends!

But--Snape had always picked on _Hermione_ in class, too! His own daughter! It was certain no Death Eaters’ children would ever have dreamed of the possibility of them being related--but Harry and Ron couldn’t imagine the two having many good feelings for each other, after all the years of downright vicious verbal abuse! Snape had put Hermione in tears, for Merlin’s sake--and more than once!

Hermione didn’t bother to enlighten them to the fact that a fair number of those tears had been channeled from sheer amusement. The boys just did _not_ get her father’s brand of sarcastic humor! They kept taking everything he said so _personally_... She’d had trouble holding back from responding in kind, not in holding back nonexistent hurt feelings. Much as her father enjoyed verbally sparring with her, if they indulged in front of witnesses he’d be forced to take points--and then he’d be all mopey the next time she snuck down to visit, and she’d spend the first half hour apologizing and trying to cheer him up. Blah! It was easier to save her comebacks until they had proper privacy, when they could properly have a fun go at it.

Besides, it was an intellectual challenge of the highest sort to find the compliments hidden in his snarky comments. They had made an on-going game of it--her father would slip the most outrageous compliments into his insults, and Hermione would keep track and try to list them the next time they met in private. 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Harry and Ron were in a state close to complete nervous breakdown. They were sleep-deprived from worrying, especially as they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Hermione since Friday’s last class ended. She was even missing from Transfigurations, their first class on Monday! The boys didn’t know if they should send out search parties, or storm Dumbledore’s office in a panic; after all, something _must_ have happened to her--Hermione would simply _never_ skive off a class!!

Well...except for Divinations. But she wasn’t even taking that anymore!

Their dithering about what to do lasted all through Transfigurations, distracting everyone so much that there wasn’t a Gryffindor in the class who could successfully transfigure their pincushion into a porcupine, much less return it to its proper inanimate state. Even the Slytherins they shared the class with were too distracted for the usual antics of House rivalry. Professor McGonagall was about ready to pitch the lot of her House’s fidgety fifth-years out of the classroom only fifteen minutes into the lesson--a record time surpassing even the Marauders’ legendary trials of her temper. The Professor was heard to mutter to herself something about Hell and freezing, and actually looking forward to the Weasley twins’ class later that day in comparison.

The boys had decided to give Hermione one more class to show up before taking drastic measure. Next was Potions, after all--the class they’d been dreading so much; when “all was to be revealed.” So to speak. Harry smacked Ron upside the head when the redhead misspoke, putting images into both their teenaged male minds that neither wanted--not in regards to their Potions Professor!! Though Ron wouldn’t mind some more of those kinds of images about Hermione... 

Which thoughtlessly spoken phrase earned him another cuff from his now smirking best friend.

Then a necessary consequence of dating Hermione came to mind, for both of them, and they nearly gave up on Potions class altogether to go down to see Madam Pomphrey about a remedy for hyperventilating and heart palpitations. Calming Draughts of the strongest order might be called for! Because it was only right and proper to officially meet with and introduce yourself to your potential girlfriend’s family--most especially, _her father._ The Greasy Git; the Great Bat of the Dungeons; the Bane of all Gryffindors...Professor Severus Snape, himself!

Harry’s grip on Ron’s arm was about the only thing keeping the boy on his feet, even if Harry was nearly as unsteady himself. Harry didn’t want Ron to be killed for wanting to date Snape’s daughter any more than Ron wanted to die!

Ron let out a heart-felt groan. His life was _over!_

Harry wasn’t any real help. “Cheer up, mate; at least you won’t have to worry about any other blokes trying to steal your girl!”

The flat-eyed glare Ron turned on him nearly made Harry snicker, even as he inched away and gripped his wand more tightly, ready to shield himself from a strong hex.


	5. Chapter 5

### Chapter 5

Most of their classmates were already seated in the Potions classroom by the time the boys arrived. Most seemed distracted from taking out their potions supplies and books by the sight of Hermione, sitting on a stool facing them, calm as you please with her legs crossed primly and her hands clasped in her lap, right by Snape’s desk. There were many dismayed and confused looks exchanged, even among more derisive speculations of the Slytherin half of the class. 

Hermione certainly didn’t act like she was in trouble. The first period class had had a uniform shell-shocked look when they’d passed by in the corridor that no one could figure out, especially as they’d been completely silent as they all but staggered slowly away. Usually the departing class was practically running in their haste to get away from the Potions classroom, and complaining in angry, loud whispers of their unfair treatment in it!

Harry and Ron just traded a sickly look of dread before settling themselves at their usual table, Hermione’s empty place at the table next to them feeling rather awkward. Neville looked completely lost without Hermione to partner him, and no one else brave enough to try and keep him from blowing up the classroom. The boys kept their heads down and ignored the whispering around them, waiting nervously for Snape’s usual dramatic entrance.

The man didn’t disappoint; the doors slammed open with their usual force mere seconds after everyone finished setting up, the menacing, black-robed professor stalking briskly to the front of the class with his usual billowing glide. A casual wave of an arm wandlessly slammed the doors closed behind him. Snape and Hermione exchanged an obvious if neutral-faced nod of greeting before he spun sharply on his heel to face his students, cold obsidian eyes raking over them--particularly his Slytherins.

Not all of the children of Death Eaters knew of his discovery as Dumbledore’s spy on the Dark Lord; contrary to many expectations, Draco Malfoy hadn’t bragged it around the moment he’d found out. The other Death Eaters’ children had followed his lead, though their confusion at Draco’s silence was obvious. Snape most certainly noted that the pinched, unusually pale face of the Malfoy Heir bore a look of despairing hope as his ice-gray eyes, with the unexpected dark bags underneath, fixed on his favorite professor.

None of Slytherin House had set eyes on their Head of House since just before he was found out, and he’d come to his first class straight from the Infirmary. They hadn’t really known if the man was even still alive; the Headmaster hadn’t really given any excuse for his absence, he merely said that he would be substitute-teaching Professor Snape’s Potions classes for the foreseeable future, and Madam Hooch was covering his Head of House duties.

The number of mopey, distraught Slytherins meandering apathetically through their classes the previous week had spoken quite eloquently of how acutely Snape was missed by many of them. There was only a very small number, all in sixth year or above, who had strutted about with smug satisfaction, believing “the traitor” had gotten what was coming to him.

Draco Malfoy had quite definitely _not_ been one of them. The boy had made a point of avoiding and outright snubbing his few smirking House-mates, to the point of receiving a smoking Howler from his father. In the privacy of his dorm, of course; Lucius Malfoy would never stoop to crass public screaming at his one and only Heir. But Draco hadn’t bothered with the customary silencing charms when he saw the red envelope his father’s bird brought to the dorm, and so all of Slytherin knew of the split in the Malfoy household...and that it wasn’t likely to be mended any time soon, as Draco came out of the room even more grimly determined to ally himself with his Head of House’s side of matters.

He’d also quite violently blown up his father’s Howler in mid-rant. It had taken the Headmaster, himself to repair the damage to the dorm room.

Snape’s family and the senior teaching staff were the only ones to know the man’s exit from Poppy’s care was forced by him, an entire week earlier than the medi-witch would have allowed, had she been given the choice. He was well enough to escape from her strongest binding charm, though--if she hadn’t released him, the insufferable man would have just up and left under his own power the minute her back was turned; likely causing more damage to himself in the process. His command of wandless magic was that good. 

Hermione’s constant presence in his classroom was partially to appease the medi-witch by keeping an eye on her father, watching for any signs of over-exertion. Hermione was actually one of only two people who could get away with giving the stubborn man orders and, realistically expect them to be followed. Not _obeyed,_ mind; but he’d take to heart the meaning behind them. Naturally, her psychologist mother was much better at it, always being careful to never injure her husband’s pride.

Snape whipped his eyes from a prolonged, intense stare at Draco Malfoy and addressed the whole class as he restlessly paced between the tables. “I’d hope you have at least done the readings in your syllabus last week, but I know from my years attempting to drum knowledge into your tiny little brains that there’s precious little chance of that--especially with the Headmaster more likely to teach you to make lemon drops than the assigned potions.”

There was a wave of nervous, hastily muffled twittering. Hermione raised an eyebrow slightly, affecting a bored look while Snape’s obsidian eyes lingered on Harry, who kept his eyes firmly on the table in front of himself and his lips clamped shut. Harry not so subtly kicked Ron in the shin when the red-head shifted next to him, just in case Ron was even _thinking_ about mouthing off to Snape. A black brow quirked slightly, one corner of their professor’s thin-lipped mouth twitching briefly with suppressed amusement before the Potion Master’s ebony gaze moved on to finish a scan of the room. 

Hermione, seeing her father’s expression, bit her lip to keep in her laughter at these signs of high humor. Her father’s sense of humor was subtle, highly sarcastic, and full of tongue-in-cheek when he let it show. After getting himself wound up properly in the first class of the day, this lesson should prove highly amusing!

The Potions Master came back to the front of the class, standing stiffly with hands clasped behind his back as he stared impassively at his now silent students. “Today you will be brewing Calming Draught.” There were several nearly inaudible groans, mostly from the students who truly had neglected to do their reading--including Harry and Ron, as Hermione hadn’t been available that weekend to force them into it. She sighed and briefly glanced ceiling-wards in exasperation. “My daughter will supervise your brewing; I expect every single one of you to pay close attention to anything she tells you, and to obey her as you would me.”

There was dead silence in the room as a certain two words registered in those nearly-receptive young minds. None of the students seemed to be breathing, except for Hermione, who was struggling mightily to contain a mirthful smirk. It was as if they’d all been turned to stone.

Vincent Crabbe was the first to shake off some of the shocked stupor and find his voice, looking as bewildered as if the whole world had just jerked sideways on him. “Professor? Your--your _daughter?”_ The boy’s eyes had gone wider than should be possible without magic as he looked around for this mystery girl. Not even his Slytherins had suspected the man of having any children of his own!

Snape’s lip curled in his patented sneer, with only Hermione able to see just how _incredibly_ difficult it was for him to hold back an amused grin. They both could almost hear the resounding ***clang!!!*** of student jaws hitting the ground as he drawled, “Yes. My daughter--Hermione Snape.” A dramatic flourish towards her with one arm set his black sleeve billowing before he snapped about and stalked around his desk, robes swirling dramatically about him, to pull out his chair and settle himself to resume playing catch-up on grading the multitudinous essays turned in the week previous. 

Merlin forbid that Albus should grade any of it; the old man would forgive errors that would have blown the castle right off the hole that once was the dungeons! Snape felt himself incredibly lucky the Headmaster actually had stuck reasonably close to his syllabus, instead of deciding to teach the little dunderheads how to brew, say, a nicely frozen lemon sorbet, or somesuch.

Snape ignored his classroom and let Hermione take control as he concentrated on distracting himself from the bone-deep, gnawing ache of still-healing injuries that did not appreciate his grandstanding for the students. Even magic and potions could only do so much, and he had been very badly injured. He doubted if the students really would have noticed if he had slowed his usual quick stride a bit, but he didn’t want to weaken any of the intimidation his mere presence held over their flighty adolescent brains. He was there if Hermione needed help, but doubted it would be required of him.

He just didn’t think he could have stood another single day confined to his bed, with even his beloved family hovering over him!

Hermione slipped off her stool and stood facing everyone, planting her hands on her hips as she gave a quite passable imitation of her father’s usual Glare. One corner of her mouth twitched minutely when Neville Longbottom fell right off his stool with a thump, quite frozen with shock. Several Slytherins--and Gryffindors, for that matter!--looked apt to join him at any moment.

Harry and Ron just exchanged a disgusted look, rolling their eyes. They were long used to Hermione’s bossy streak; changing her expression a bit didn’t change their reaction to it. They already thought of her as scarier than Snape, when she got on a roll! With a nod towards the storeroom, Harry stood to gather the ingredients they’d need, while Ron sighed and moved to ready a cauldron. Their movements seemed to thaw the frozen rest of the class, and students slowly began to divvy up who was doing what before Hermione could start to berate them into moving. The Slytherins were only slightly slower than their Gryffindor classmates, with Draco Malfoy being the last to tear his stunned gaze from his industriously preoccupied Head of House.

Class went remarkably like usual, if with fewer creative insults. Hermione was conscious that these were her classmates, not her students--she was only acting as a teaching aide, and so kept her mischievous tendency to want to imitate her father too closely at least somewhat in check. She made sure she was impartial in her comments and criticisms--whatever a student’s House, good work got praise and idiot mistakes were severely taken to task.

She wasn’t sure who would be most amusing when he first gave points to Gryffindor--the stunned Gryffindors, or the poleaxed Slytherins! She was _so_ looking forward to her classmates’ faces when her father next personally taught the class, and behaved exactly the way she was now.

There were only two near-explosions. Neville Longbottom simply could _not_ concentrate on what he was doing when her father was in the room, and almost managed to drop fairy toes into his cauldron before she could snap at him to pay attention. Then Gregory Goyle didn’t have Draco’s help, as it was Vincent’s turn to sit with Draco--and Pansy Parkinson simply could _not_ keep ahead of that boy’s idiotic mistakes. Hermione sighed and gave Pansy a commiserating look right before she verbally cut loose on Goyle with the full Snape Attitude to pay attention to what he was doing, before he blew up the dungeons and left his House with nowhere to sleep for the rest of term! Hermione knew she didn’t have to worry about hurting Goyle’s feelings; his emotional skin was much too think for her paltry attempt to do more than vaguely embarrass him. Even her father had a hard time putting the fear of the Potions Master into Gregory Goyle!

Pansy was too overall shocked by everything that had happened to do more than stare at Hermione in somewhat awed appreciation.

Hermione caught a glimmer of her father’s amused eyes on her as she finished with Goyle. She gave him an aggrieved look as he suppressed a smirk and quickly focused back on his grading, hiding behind his dark, lank, but now grease-free hair. A mischievous smirk flitted across her face as she remembered her mother laying down the law about no acknowledged husband of hers going in public looking anything less than his best. No more spying meant no more putting up a front to make himself as unappealing as possible to keep people away.

As soon as every potion was finished and Hermione had given each of the students permission to bottle samples and clean up their work areas, Snape laid down his quill and pushed his chair back from his desk. Every student eye snapped to him as he stood, careful to be sure his faint tremors weren’t visible to the children, surveying the now frozen chaos that was the end of class. Silence descended like a shroud as they waited for him to speak.

“Well done. Ten points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor for acceptable behavior.” A smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth as the class all but collapsed in shock. Then those cold black eyes narrowed and glared at first Longbottom, then Goyle. “And five points each _from_ Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin, for nearly blowing up my classroom.” The students’ shock doubled, even Ron’s and Harry’s, who hadn’t quite believed Snape would be treating all of his students equally. Then that familiar deep voice snapped out, “Now leave your samples on my desk, and _leave.”_

The stunned students moved like zombies as they followed his direction, most of them unblinking with the shock. Professor Snape--the Greasy Git of the Dungeons, the Slytherin-biased, rabid Gryffindor-hater--had not only _given points_ to Gryffindor...but he’d _taken_ them from _Slytherin!!_ Hermione had as hard a time as her father at stifling an all-out grin at their flummoxed expressions. She gleefully expected Madam Pomfrey would be seeing some of them shortly, to administer Calming Draughts for their fried nerves.

Ron and Harry each threw her a look of mixed bewilderment and resignation as they left the classroom. She smiled back at them, in fine spirits, even giving them a little wave. She’d see them shortly in the Great Hall for lunch, so she could see first-hand as the rest of the school was caught up on the current shocking news. Her smile turned evil; she wanted to see everyone’s faces!

Snape gave his daughter a raised eyebrow and a tolerant smirk as he easily figured her train of thought. He was rather looking forward to the spectacle himself. Perhaps a bit of a demonstration of their previously secret relationship would be in order...a casual smile and hug ought to send several of them to the Hospital Wing. Helen was going to be sitting with him at the staff table for meals from now on, also, so they would both have a good view of the inevitable melt-down of the student body.

Oh, but it was going to be _so_ entertaining for a few days!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**AN:** I really don't think I'll be taking this any further, unless I get attacked by one of those rabid plot-bunnies that lurk in unexpected places. I hope you enjoyed this little story!_


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